


Trusted One

by Deus_Ex_Ash, squire



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hair, M/M, Pre-Slash, Realisation of feelings, Romantic Tension, hair-cutting, hurt-comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-02-02 22:36:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12735696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deus_Ex_Ash/pseuds/Deus_Ex_Ash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: Thrawn has to be made presentable before he's to be brought before the Emperor, and that involves cutting his hair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Marvels Thrawn comic book preview. You know which one. 
> 
> Co-written in a sandwich way over on Tumblr - each a piece. Which is fun because you don't know where the story will go when you give it over :)

“Until morning,” Cadet Eli Vanto echoes Thrawn’s bid of good night, uneasy and with an undercurrent of odd nervousness he’d been displaying the whole evening. But take his leave he does, and the door swishes shut after him, leaving Thrawn alone with his thoughts and expectations. Tomorrow, he’s going to be brought before the Emperor.

There’s only little he has to do in lieu of preparation. The rags of his old clothes and the furs he wore in his exile have been long exchanged for a set of what Thrawn learned was enlisted technician uniform, plain trousers and tunic of dull green colour. Probably the only clothes of his size the  _Strikefast_  had to spare. The colour clashes with the tone of his skin. The dark grey uniform of the Navy officers would look better on him but Thrawn knows how unlikely is for him to be given that - at least now. After tomorrow, though…

An electronic beep from the door requests entry, and as soon as Thrawn grants it, Cadet Vanto walks hurriedly in. He carries a small bundle and throws a look over his shoulder in the last second, as if he’s afraid someone might have seen him returning here. Interesting. 

“Forgive me,“ he says, in that slightly pitched voice of his that indicates he’s not exactly comfortable with what he’s about to do. “I forgot about the Captain’s order to give you this.”

He deposits the bundle on the desk and fumbles a moment with its contents. As far as Thrawn can guess, it’s a simple white set of trousers and shirt with darker shoulder patches, the Imperial Cadet uniform. The same Eli Vanto wears while on ship. And then Eli pulls out a small rectangular leather case out of the folds of fabric and heaves an almost imperceptible sigh. 

“It probably won’t even be the Emperor you’re going to meet,” he says, again, though this time it sounds less like a reassurance and more like… remorse? “But it’s Coruscant, and Coruscant has standards.” He emphasises the last word as if he quotes someone, consonants sharp and pushed through clenched teeth. “So you need to be presentable.”

“I understand,” Thrawn nods. Cadet uniform is a good compromise between what would befit him and what the Humans are going to allow him. “And this?” he motions to the case in Vanto’s hands, even as the Cadet is already undoing the clasp holding it closed. Inside, Thrawn catches the metalic gleam of long scissors.

 

Thrawn tenses rexflexively. While his life among his people had him used to a regulation cut, he’d grown accustomed to the long hair, he’d even grown to like it.

Cadet Vanto sees his face and gives him an apologetic smile. “Coruscant has standards. I promise I know what I’m doing.”

It’s not that Thrawn doesn’t trust the Cadet with his hair. He just likes it long.

He sighs, knowing that fighting will get him nothing. He walks toward the bathroom, indicating that Vanto should follow. He sits down on the toilet so that his back is to him. He shuts his eyes and concentrates very hard on remaining still. He won’t look at his hair falling away. That isn’t happening.

He hears the sound of Cadet Vanto running the water. He feels the sensation of Vanto wetting his hair but also running his fingers through it as he does so. It’s almost… comforting.

With this simple act of kindness, Thrawn knows Eli Vanto shares his sorrow at the loss of his hair. And that in itself is comforting.

 

 

There is no mirror where Thrawn is facing so he has to rely on his other senses to guess what Cadet Vanto is doing. It helps that the bathroom in his quarters is small, not designed to be shared by two full grown men. Thrawn can feel each of Vanto’s movements in the brush of his sleeves against his own back.

So far it seems that Cadet Vanto is hesitating. The touches with which he arranges the wet tresses to lie evenly on Thrawn’s shoulders are timid, almost skittish. Thrawn regrets the absence of a mirror, and he can’t turn his head to look without disturbing Vanto’s work. But the hand occasionally brushing his ear or touching his neck feels very warm. 

“It’s a pity,” Vanto murmurs, as if he isn’t even aware he’s speaking aloud. His tone weighs down on the last word as if it is much more than just a pity to him: more like a sacrilege.

“It is alright,” he finds himself comforting Vanto in turn. “I do not mind,” he lies, lightness in his voice. 

The first snip of the scissors comes while he’s still speaking and the break in his tone belies his indifference immediately.  

“Sorry,“ Eli Vanto mutters but doesn’t stop working, scissors snip-snipping around Thrawn’s head and soft whispering of free locks sliding down Thrawn’s back the only sounds for a moment, unbearably loud. As if Vanto feels the same, he starts talking again. 

“I really hope I am not breaking some convention.” He sounds light, as if joking, but the lightness is forced and strained. 

“Meaning?”

“Of your people,” Vanto clarifies. “Personal space, strangers, all that.”

Thrawn thinks for a while. “Is there any such convention in the Empire I should know of?”

A slight huff above him, and gentle fingertips tilting his head slightly to the side. From what Thrawn can feel, Eli Vanto really knows what he’s doing. He’s working carefully but methodically, with an air of practice. 

“Not in where you’re going, no,” comes the wry reply. 

Thrawn hazards a guess. “There is one on Lysatra, your homeworld, then.“

Another huff above him, this time unmistakable amusement. “Yes, there is,” Vanto confirms. “We don’t let strangers touch or cut our hair. Only family. And…. courting couples,” he finishes after an awkward prolonged moment. 

“I believe the correct expression in Basic is lovers,” Thrawn muses. 

“… Yes. That’s correct.“ Were there a mirror, Thrawn is sure he would see Eli Vanto’s face aflame, if his shaky voice was anything to go by. Fascinating. 

Thrawn recalls Cadet Vanto’s usual tousled appearance, that light brown hair just barely conforming to the regulation length, looking most of the time as if Eli was seeing to his haircuts himself. He files that particular deduction away.

“Finished,“ Cadet Vanto announces with a last snip, smoothing the now almost dry hair out of Thrawn’s face into standard Imperial hairdo, neatly slicked back. Thrawn can acutely perceive the difference, his head feels lighter, bereft. The feeling is not unlike to finding oneself suddenly naked, and Thrawn can see the merits of Lysatran habit of letting only family or trusted one cut their hair. He finds himself, unexpectedly but fiercely, glad that Eli Vanto could do that for him.

He rises, locks of hair falling to the floor, and turns. Vanto is keeping his eyes downcast, there is still a faint blush to his cheeks, but also a hidden expression of… satisfaction? 

And then Thrawn recalls the cautious glance over his shoulder that Eli threw into the corridor earlier, and another piece of a puzzle snaps into place. 

“Cadet Vanto, was the Captain’s order that you personally were to cut my hair?”

Eli Vanto flinches and heat rises to his face, along with something else. Defiance. 

“No. He ordered me to get you that uniform. Your appointment with the staff sergeant to cut your hair is scheduled for tomorrow morning.“

“Why you, then?“

 _Why me?_ That was the question Eli kept asking him earlier that evening, over and over. Why did Thrawn spend time with him, why he kept prodding for information about him. Thrawn had deflected the question each and every time. How ironic that he is the one asking it now. 

“I couldn’t let just some… stranger, touch your–“ Eli Vanto begins, and then corrects himself hastily, “Your hair, I thought it would be better if it was cut by someone who doesn’t despise you, or mock you…“

Ah. The ever-present distrust and feeling of superiority towards Thrawn’s alien origin is perceivable even aboard the  _Strikefast_. Eli Vanto tried to warn him about it, numerous times.

“You care about me,“ he says, quietly. “Thank you.“

“I…“ There seems to be a number of words, stuck on just the tip of Eli’s tongue, and then he shakes his head, as if admitting defeat. 

“You’re leaving tomorrow,“ he sighs. “You’re welcome.“

 

***

 

It’s interesting, Thrawn muses as he walks through the grand Imperial Palace, Humans and their names. As a Chiss, he’s Mitth'raw'nuruodo, his personal, family and status name all in one word. Cadet Eli Vanto is three different words, and with them come three different reasons why is he interesting to Thrawn.

The Cadet is useful to him, with his knowledge of Sy Bisti. It would be beneficial to keep him. 

Vanto is a mystery, with his knowledge on Chiss, a possible spy and a threat that Thrawn cannot in good conscience dismiss. It is vital to keep him. 

Eli is a man currently walking behind him, a lock of dark-blue hair tucked in his breast-pocket, right above his wildly beating heart, and he’s the closest to a trusted one Thrawn had for years. Thrawn wants to keep that one, too. 


	2. Chapter 2

Admiral Ar’alani hadn't told Eli Vanto why he'd been summoned to her office, only that it was important. When Eli opened the door he found that she was not there. Another person was sitting at her desk. Eli closed the door behind him and remained at attention.

Eli felt his hands shaking with nervousness. He hadn't felt this on edge since he'd arrived on Csilla. Still, his nerves were rightfully frayed. Eli had been doing his best to distinguish the faces of the Chiss from one another and there was no denying the obvious.

The man sitting before him was Thrawn’s brother.

Of course, there were some differences. This man’s skin was more a vibrant blue than Thrawn’s and his hair was more tousled than Eli had ever seen Thrawn wear his. Still, the family resemblance was very difficult to ignore.

They stared at each other in silence, Thrawn’s brother seeming content to passively observe him as Thrawn had once done. Still Eli felt like he should speak.

“I'm sorry, Thrawn never really mentioned having a brother.” Eli began in Sy Bisti, but was cut off.

“Really? Well then, allow me to introduce myself. I am Mith’ras’safis, younger brother to Mith’raw’nuruodo.” Mith’ras’safis’ voice was heavily accented as he spoke.

Eli couldn't help but notice the use of Thrawn’s full name. It sent a very clear message. ‘You have no right to call him that. I do.’

Eli had to retaliate. He knew all too well that if he let somebody walk all over him now then he'd never gain the upper hand in the conversation. So he pressed his luck a bit.

“Well, Thrass, my name is Eli Vanto, a good friend of Thrawn’s.” Eli made sure to put emphasis on both Thrass’ and Thrawn’s core names.

Thrass’ face twitched and Eli couldn't tell whether it was from contempt or not. “Yes, I do believe he mentioned you before.”

Eli did his best to hide his curiosity. “How do you mean?”

If Thrass noticed Eli’s intrigue, he did not press the advantage. “When he first met you, your supposed knowledge of our kind greatly unnerved him. However, he was able to put those suspicions to rest.”

Eli could not hide his shock. “He thought I was a spy?”

“Yes, at first. But he was able to put that idea to rest,” Thrass repeated.

Eli felt betrayed. “What else hasn't he told me?” Eli did his best to keep both his voice and his temper from flaring but wasn't successful.

“It is not my place to tell.” 

“So there is more,” Eli’s voice was small and tight. “He was... lying to me, this whole time.”

“No,” Thrass cut him off again. “I came here originally to see for myself if you were as loyal and trustworthy as my brother proclaimed. He spoke very highly of you, Eli Vanto, and I suggest you give him the benefit of the doubt on this.”

Eli let that sink in for a moment. Thrawn couldn't have faked his connection with Eli, it was impossible. Thrawn was a skilled manipulator, Eli knew, but he doubted greatly that Thrawn would intentionally maintain such a close personal relationship with somebody if it wasn't genuine. He would aim for a working relationship, not a personal one.

Still, Eli felt hurt. Nevertheless, he'd shown too much to Thrass already. So he did his best to suppress his emotions and pulled another topic out of thin air. “You thought I might've been a spy?”

“Yes, I've had experience in these matters so I came to investigate.” Thrass said passively.

“Experience?” Eli questioned.

“I once committed espionage against my own brother.” Thrass said blankly.

“And how did Thrawn take that?” Eli smiled dryly.

Thrass gave him a meaningful look.

“Right,” Eli chuckled. “Well, I can assure you that I am not here to steal your military secrets. Thrawn sent me here to aid you.”

“That should prove my earlier point.” Thrass said emphatically. “Thrawn would never have given you our planet’s location unless he trusted you.”

“Do you trust me, Mith’ras’safis?” Eli asked diplomatically.

“I’m withholding any judgement for now, but in the meantime, you may call me Thrass.” That in and of itself spoke volumes to Eli.

Without another word, Thrass got up from the desk he'd been seated at and left Eli Vanto alone with his thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, it was none of Thrawn’s calculations and anticipations that had saved his life. He had followed his path past the point of no return, and when he found himself at the end - surrounded by enemies, his death awaiting him like many arms in a cold embrace - he didn’t expect to come out of it alive. He didn’t waste time hoping - hope was for the Rebels, a fickle thing, unfit to rely on. Thrawn never trusted in having luck.

Fortunately for him, it seemed that luck, for once, trusted in him.

Even if it took years to claw his way back to the Ascendancy. The stab wound in his back ceased aching after the first, even though it never fully healed, limiting the range of his movement in a privately infuriating way. And he needed to guard his back, he needed to glance over his shoulder so many times during those years among wild spacers, slavers and pirates, always on the guard, never trusting anyone.

When they finally retrieved him, they had to check his DNA to verify his identity. He could barely recognise himself under the layers of dirt, scabs and smeared gang tattoos, his hair once again falling almost to his elbows, snarled and heavy with grime.

He let them wash him, scrub him clean, smooth out his scars with bacta. But the first one approaching him with scissors ended up flattened against the wall with two broken ribs, and nobody dared it again. Post-traumatic stress disorder, they wrote in their report, and he let them. Their opinion didn’t matter. They weren’t the one whose opinion ever mattered, to him.

Then finally Csilla appeared beneath the viewports, and then the hearing before the High Command, and after endless procedures, Thrawn was finally left alone, with no outlook for any more meetings or duties in the foreseeable future. He could finally rest. And yet, he found he wasn’t able to.

Not until the door panel signalled a request for entry, displaying an identification that had an invisible weight lifting from Thrawn’s shoulders and at the same time, sending his heart beating faster.

It was almost like that evening so many years ago, Eli Vanto walking through the door with a bundle of clothing in his arms. Except it wasn’t: gone was the young, skittish man, always at odds with his surroundings, always aware how insignificant he was and how important it were for him to keep his head low.

Years of life and service among the Chiss have changed Eli, Thrawn could immediately see. This Eli walked straight-backed and sure, expression controlled and eyes unreadable under the shade of his officer’s cap, the only thing of his old Imperial uniform he clung to.

“The Admiral ordered me to give you this.” His Cheunh was flawless and yet intriguing, he aspirated his consonants in a correct but still unique way.

Thrawn smoothed out the lapels on the folded white jacket. It was an uniform of the Chiss Defense Fleet.

“Am I deemed fit to get back into the ranks after all?”

“Do you feel like you are?”

This was also new, Eli deflecting his questions, his outside appearance and demeanor giving no clues as to what he might be feeling. Thrawn once knew how to read him, down to the finest print; now Eli was like a new edition of the same book. A translation, perhaps, Thrawn mused - a fitting simile: Eli had been uprooted, forfeiting everything he knew, and had to learn to live and thrive in an environment completely foreign to him. No wonder he was like this, hardened and polished like the glaciers over Csilla.

Thrawn had done this, he’d sent his friend to the Ascendancy, to fend for himself alone. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. The Empire had fallen. Had he not sent Eli away in time, Eli would have fallen with it.

“But feelings aside, you need to look like you are,” Eli answered his own question. Sure enough, he was already pulling out the leather case. As far as Thrawn could tell, it was the same as the last time.

“Not afraid of my supposed violent moods?” Thrawn offered a smile.

Eli did not return it. “I was never afraid of any legends regarding you.”

Thrawn had to concede his point. Fascinated, yes; young Eli Vanto was drawn by the stories of the Chiss. But never distrustful, never prejudiced, never afraid.

Eli brought a chair into the bathroom and Thrawn followed. Like before, there was no mirror he could watch himself in, and this time he was glad for it. He had no love for the mess of entangled locks his hair has turned into during those rough years.

He could feel Eli wetting his hair, his fingers snagging on the knots. Not even a comb would have any chance to smooth this out. He would have to cut the most of it off.

“So this is what true exile looks like,” Eli observed in that unreadable tone of his and Thrawn felt his stomach drop.

“I figured it out, some time after your brother began dropping hints,” Eli continued, still so detached, without mercy. “But I never truly believed it, not until I saw this.” He hooked his fingers in the snarled hair and gave a sharp tug, Thrawn followed the unexpected pain with a tilt of his head and a slight hiss.

“It should have dawned on me even back then, that story of yours. How unlikely it was to have hair that fine, strong and smooth, after supposed years in wilderness. I should have noticed. Wonder how things would have turned out for both of us, if I did.”

“I cannot take back what I did,” Thrawn said in Sy Bisti. He didn’t trust his voice to use Cheunh, not with its many undertones, not when he could feel his composure breaking. “But I am sorry for deceiving you.”

He almost flinched at the first snap of the scissors, but soon it became clear that Eli still knew what he was doing. He worked swiftly and in silence, and despite his head losing handfuls of ballast weight, Thrawn felt it grow heavier with each passing second.

All too soon, Eli was finished. Thrawn remained seated but turned halfway around, suppressing a wince at the pull of the scar tissue on his back, and looked up into the shadow cast over Eli’s face.

“Why you?” he asked, like that first time. Back then, it was Eli’s affection that was the mystery, why him of all people wanted to be the one cutting Thrawn’s hair. Now it couldn’t be that.

“What do you mean?”

“You once told me you wanted my hair to be cut by someone who didn’t despise me. Why would you want to do it now when...”

“I do not despise you, Thrawn.” It was the first words in Sy Bisti Eli said since their reunion, and their sound fell over Thrawn’s ears like rain over a scorched grass. He would drink in the kindness in them, would drown himself in it if he could.

“I was pretty angry when I found out,” Eli continued in Basic, “but I had enough time to work it out, you know. You did what you had to. Stars help you if you ever do that again.”

“You...” Thrawn didn’t trust his voice. Eli was _forgiving_ him?

“Yup.” Eli was grinning now, the cold facade broken, completely melted off. “But it was nice watching you shit your pants.”

Thrawn drew himself up. “I did not, in fact–”

“It’s an idiom,” Eli chuckled. “I _missed_ you, Thrawn.”

“And I, you, Eli Vanto.” And for the first time in years, Thrawn finally felt that he was home.

**Author's Note:**

> To be continued? This is a sandwich collab fic, we can continue any time :)


End file.
